


A Game of Happy Families: Round 2 ~ Draco's Story

by Leela



Series: A Game of Happy Families [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius forces a meeting with Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Happy Families: Round 2 ~ Draco's Story

**Author's Note:**

> A Game of Happy Families is a series of thematically-connected stories set in the same storyverse. Each story can be read independently or in series order.
> 
> **Betas**: many thanks to Shoshanna, who saw this story through three incarnations and was still helping me to get it right at the end; to who-la-hoop, who helped me get the characters back on track when they slipped out of true and provided brit-picking assistance; and, as always, to batdina, who listens patiently and helps me when I get completely stuck.

Generations of expectations crash down on my shoulders when I step out of the fireplace and into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. An ache spreads through my neck from the effort of holding my head up. I fight not to fall back on old habits, not to protect myself by deflecting the pain onto others. Sometimes I almost wish that Father had publicly disowned me, instead of merely choosing to shun me privately. Almost.

House elves bustle around us, taking our cloaks. Callet bobs her head and acknowledges me, then looks stricken and disappears. The rest act as if I do not exist, as if they have not known me since I was a child.

"Remind me again why I let you drag me to these annual 'We killed Voldemort so give us your money' things?" Harry yanks at the high collar of his dress robes.

"Can't you wait until you've made a first impression before you destroy my hard work?" Sighing more loudly than is warranted, I smooth his clothing yet again. I ignore Severus's snort and continue, "We hardly _drag_ you to these things. You decided to accept your invitation and persuaded Severus to accept his. If I remember correctly, and I always do, you made several very delightful promises to me if I consented to be your 'plus one' and help in the effort to convince the other guests to part with a few of their ancestral galleons."

"Mercenary."

"Is that supposed to be an insult? Pathetic."

Severus snorts again. I glare at him; his lips twitch into an almost-smile. The left hand he places on the small of my back is warm and steady, improving my mood immensely. Our latest combination of potions is more successful at controlling the tremors – even if only for a few hours after he takes them.

I saunter to the mirror opposite the Floo and check my own appearance. Flooing can be murder on dress robes. All those wrinkles. And the soot! At least we have Beau Brummel's lovely spells for making oneself presentable again. I adjust the jewelled clasp at the neck of my robes to better display the Malfoy crest carved into the large centre diamond. "Do you think Father will appreciate this gesture of family loyalty?"

"Enough, Draco." Severus, the arsehole, looks completely at ease. "I am interested neither in making a grand entrance, nor in watching you skirmish with your father."

"Malfoys do not stoop to public scenes with each other, and I am a Malfoy, regardless of my father's current opinion." Fuck, that hurts. And saying it out loud was stupid. I cannot afford any show of weakness here, especially with more guests stepping out of the Floo behind us. I paste a smirk on my face. "Besides, how could I miss this? My parents hosting the annual charity ball to raise money for Voldemort's victims; the irony is positively delicious."

Harry cups my face with his hands, forces me to look at him. Gentle, but insistent. "Remember, I may be the guest of honour, but I don't have to stay all night. We can leave any time."

"You're not getting out of your obligations that easily, Harry." Placing myself between them, I link arms with Harry and Severus. "Shall we? I believe I was promised a dance or three."

I'm pathetically grateful for their willingness to pretend they don't know how desperately I need them. By the time we reach the receiving line, my dignity is once again intact. I don't even blink when Father deliberately ignores me and fawns over the upper-class twits behind us.

ooOoo

"I really don't understand what Harry Potter was thinking. Using these anniversary balls to raise money for charity is more than acceptable, but insisting that we donate to that werewolf reservation, that we consider them victims?" The old witch writhes with what I'm sure she thinks is a delicate shiver, and keeps talking. "I'm sure we can agree, Mr Malfoy…"

I murmur something just loud enough for her to delude herself that I'm paying attention. Hook up with the saviour of the wizarding world (even _he_ doesn't believe he did it all by himself), and the wizarding world flocks to your door. Or at least expects you to pay attention to the doors they open for you. Like the crone in front of me. Somewhere in the vicinity of her first hundred, if she's a day, and forgetting that a glamour needs to go below the shoulders if it's going to be remotely convincing.

"I said the exact same thing to Mellicent at dinner – you do know Mellicent Pentwhistle, don't you? I understand the Malfoys are related to the Morecombe Pentwhistles through your great-grandfather's second wife." She pauses briefly to locate whatever thoughts she left behind before heading off on that most recent digression.

I'm listening with half an ear at best, although the witch hasn't noticed. My mother taught me well, and Father reinforced her training with his inimitable style. I sip the swill they're calling Merlot and discreetly look around for Harry or Severus – honestly, I'm desperate enough to see them to chance a public snubbing from my father, if he's in their vicinity – but I haven't glimpsed either of them for at least an hour. I mentally list all the reasons why I vowed never to use an Unforgivable. Every one of them starts with Harry and ends with Severus.

"There you are, Draco. We've been looking for you all over the place." The Weasel's rough tones are almost pleasurable to my ears.

Rescued by a pair of Weasleys. Yet another indignity to add to tonight's count. I make my excuses to the old bat and follow Charlie and Ron to a back corner where Hermione and Mischa are talking quietly at a table. Abandoned goblets and personal items identify the occupants of the other seats as Bill, Fleur, Ginny, and Viktor. Hermione reaches into a coolbox under her chair and hands me a bottle of Merlin's Dark Ale – you've got to admire a woman who smuggles a coolbox full of her husband's favourite ale into Malfoy Manor without being detected, especially when she's willing to share. I collapse with my usual grace and style into the chair next to her, pop the cap, and some prat drops a heavy hand on my shoulder.

Harry ruffles my hair and snags my bottle.

"Do you mind?" I pat my hair back into place with my fingers.

"Not at all." He runs his fingers through my hair again – the man is completely ineducable – and sits down next to me. Throwing his head back so I'm forced to admire the length and grace of his neck, he takes a long drink and then hands my bottle back. "Might as well drink up, you're going to need it. Playtime's over."

"Wait. Don't tell me," I widen my eyes and sway like Professor Trelawny. "I see myself charming a heap of galleons from yet another cranky old pureblood with wandering hands. And, wait for it, you're going to die slowly and painfully when a handsome man strangles you with his long, blond hair." I fling my hair over my shoulder and look at Harry expectantly.

The rest of the table snickers, but Harry just sighs and rubs his neck. "Well, you got the cranky old pureblood right. Unfortunately, it's your father. He's demanding to see you this minute, not a moment later, and he will not take no for an answer. Severus sent me to get you… quietly."

"Fucking hell," I say and thunk my head on the table.

The Weasley contingent chimes in with a chorus of equally vibrant expletives, not all of them in English. I hide my smile against the table. If even one Weasley finds out that I'm starting to appreciate them, I'm doomed.

ooOoo

"Draco, darling." Mother perches on the chaise longue at the end of the hallway. One sleeve of her evening robes is stained with red-black spots that stand out against the ice-blue fabric. Custom-dyed to match her eyes, I have no doubt. Father loves to indulge her in such extravagances.

"Where is he?"

"Lucius has locked himself into your mother's sitting room." Severus points to a set of blue double doors.

"Why there?" I look at Mother. "He hates that room."

"Apparently, he's not interested in breaking anything that matters to him." She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth. "Severus, Lady Parsette, and I were having a quiet conversation about the board members for the next charity event, when he burst in and requested that she leave. Luckily our discussion was all but over. He showed absolutely no consideration for how many years I've put up with that woman just to be considered for membership."

"A Malfoy showing no consideration for others. Who'd have thought?" Harry blinks those damnably green eyes at me, fluttering his long black lashes.

I resist the temptation to kick him in the shin. Some battles really are lost before they even begin. "And how did this lead to me being dragged here?"

"Ask Lucius," Severus scowls. "Assuming he's capable of being that coherent."

A loud crash sounds from the other side of the doors, then another and another. Mother sways to her feet. I discard everything I planned to say and reach for her. Instead she seizes my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. "I need to return to the ballroom. Our guests have been left alone far too long." Her voice drops into a vicious hiss. "Listen to your father. We must salvage what remains of our family."

Pain, sharp and familiar, lances through me as I watch her walk down the hallway. So, now I'm family again? Required to save what little reputation Father and Voldemort didn't ruin during that madman's residence at the Manor. Accomplish something that Father's best efforts at ingratiating himself with the new Ministry and our old social circle haven't managed in the fifteen years since he finished serving his sentence for war crimes. Oh, who am I kidding? What matters reality when we have appearances to keep up? Perhaps I'm being unfair. But even broken as he is these days, my father is an arrogant arse.

Another crash breaks my train of thought. "Apparently, he's getting impatient."

Severus raises an eyebrow at the closed doors. "Indeed."

"So why are we lazing around out here?" I snap.

"Blood wards," Severus explains.

"And we didn't think that you'd want to go in there alone," Harry adds.

They come up on either side of me, each taking one of my hands in theirs. Harry's grip is tight and warm. Severus is using his bad hand; his grip is a little weaker, but no less reassuring.

"Thank you." I close my eyes, unable to look at either of them until I find my bearings again. Perhaps some day I'll get used to the idea of so much love and support, freely offered.

When they release me, I walk up to the doors. Drawing my wand across a fingertip, I whisper a spell. The cut remains open just long enough for me to sprinkle the three drops of Malfoy blood required to dismantle my father's wards. I enter the room and leave Severus and Harry to close the doors behind us. Stopping just inside, I survey what's left of the room.

The damage is impressive. Almost all of the furniture has been toppled over or demolished. Portraits and paintings hang crookedly on the walls, deserted by their inhabitants. Fragments of shattered ornaments and antiques are strewn across the floor.

Father sits facing the doors in the only chair that remains intact. Next to him, a jug and goblet sit on a small side table. Posture notwithstanding, he is not his usual immaculate self. His hair is dishevelled. His silver and grey dress robes are open at the neck. His cane lies abandoned on the other side of the room. And yet very little has changed. He still sits with one leg crossed over the other. Red lines still snake through the whites of his eyes – the effect of Dragon's Breath, his drink of choice ever since the Battle of Hogwarts was won and lost. He still toys incessantly with his wand.

Even drunk as he is, the man unnerves me. Quite possibly even scares me.

However, fear no longer runs my life. I do not allow it. Neither do my silent but watchful guardians. Severus stands behind me, protecting our exit. Harry leans against the mantelpiece, hand hovering over his wand sheath.

Ignoring the frantic thudding of my heart and the ridiculous, inerasable hope that Father has changed his mind about me, I cross to the opposite side of my father from the fireplace. "Doing a little redecorating, Father?"

He curls his upper lip, flicks his eyes contemptuously from my head to my toes. He refills his goblet from the jug on the small table, sips, and settles back. "Perhaps it is time to bring in an exorcist and evict some of the less welcome Malfoy ghosts."

"And yet I am here because you summoned me." I'm proud that my voice is steady despite the agony, worse than Crucio, which cracks through me. I bite my lower lip, sucking on the blood that wells up. Pain always tastes of copper and iron.

Then Severus is behind me, breath warm against my neck, hand solid against my hip. "Lucius," he says in a voice that would sound conversational to anyone who did not know him, "this game has become tedious. If you had really intended to disown Draco—"

Cutting across whatever Severus was going to say, Father stares at me and says, "In this house, we have no son. Do not speak his name."

I shudder; nausea churns in my stomach. Those words never lose their power. I want to keen and tear my hair, punch and kick him until he takes them back, fall to my knees at his feet and beg forgiveness for the sin of being myself, of refusing to hide my so-called indiscretions. Severus's hand slips under my elbow, his arm around my waist. I draw strength from his support, then step away to stand on my own again. Control brings a comfortable coldness. I meet Father's gaze and sneer, "Adopting the royal 'We'? I thought reality and Azkaban would have taken care of those particular pretensions."

The twitch of a muscle in Father's cheek is his only response. A hit, a very palpable hit!

"And speaking of pretensions," I continue, "as enjoyable as this is, perhaps we can move onto the subject of why you called me here."

Instead of responding to me, Father turns to Harry and drawls, "Well, if it isn't the Boy Who Lived to Collect Broken-Down Death Eaters."

"To be precise, he collects Former Death Eaters. Although I believe he considers his collection to be complete at the moment." Severus moves back into position in front of the doors. "Jealous, Lucius?"

"Of what, pray tell?" Father drinks deeply from his goblet and settles back into his chair. The lines of red and black flare across his eyes.

"Of what we two broken-down, former Death Eaters have accomplished while you marinate in your manor, distracting yourself with pathetic attempts to influence the Ministry." Severus smiles, tight and nasty; the expression sends shivers down my spine.

"A half-blood." Father waves his hand in lazy dismissal and downs the last of his drink. His pale pink tongue slips out for a moment to lick the drops that collected on his lips. It looks so alien that I'm transfixed. I stare at his mouth long after the tongue has slithered back inside where it belongs, until his mouth curls into the kind of smile that sends an icy cold trickle down my spine.

"Half-bloods," Father repeats. "The pair of you." And then his goblet is on the table, and his wand is in his hand. A complicated wave of his wand, and he murmurs words too quietly for me to hear.

I yell, "Watch out," but it's too late. The doors fling themselves open. Severus and Harry are tossed out. The doors slam shut behind them. Wards lock into place with a snick that feels audible. Fuck. I turn on my father. "What is wrong with you? Throwing them out like that. What if he—" I clamp my lips together, biting my tongue. Severus would not appreciate my continuing with that thought.

"He's fine." Father dismisses my objections with a sneer. "Potter has Severus well in hand, didn't so much as let him stumble on landing."

"Why should I trust you?"

"It happened in the Manor, therefore I know. Don't be purposefully obtuse."

"Fine," I say, knowing that I have no choice except to take his word. These new wards, I am sure, will not let me pass.

I am alone with my father for the first time in years, and I don't know whether I'm more terrified or delighted to have his attention. Then again, calculated anger has always served me well. As have my creature comforts. I transfigure some debris into a comfortable chair and a footstool. Feet up, elbows on the chair arms, wand poised between steepled fingers, I study my father – my opponent. He's refilling his goblet yet again. That reddish smoke rising from the jug means it is almost empty. It's impossible to know how many he has drunk this evening, though. More than when I lived here, clearly.

Under my gaze, the little finger on his left hand twitches. His grip on his wand slips. He recovers with a twirl designed to appear intentional.

Hiding my triumph behind a bland expression, I continue to watch him. A simple invitation to dinner would have indicated forgiveness. Instead, Father has summoned me to a private meeting during a public affair. I do not know how to interpret this, so I wait.

Father breaks first; only appropriate, since he initiated this meeting. "I had lunch with Mr Jarndyce the elder recently."

He visited the solicitors for the Malfoy estate and now wants to talk to me. I need a drink. Several would be better. Not that brain-rot he imbibes, however.

"Apparently, as long as I have a surviving male child, the entailments on the Malfoy lands and the applicable estate laws do not permit me to exercise my own choice regarding inheritance. Even if I were to make your disowning public, the entailments would still hold you as my heir."

"That's… interesting." Hopefully, he won't read too much into my slight hesitation. Or notice that my fingertips press together a fraction more tightly to hide the shaking: the joyous wound of knowing that his desires cannot steal my birthright.

He plants both feet on the ground and sits forward, elbows resting on his thighs, staring at the wand still clutched in one hand and the goblet in the other. "You and I have wreaked much havoc on the Malfoy name."

I want to snap back, but then he sighs. That sigh almost shatters me – Father has never sounded so defeated before. Still, I feel compelled to say something, if only to break the awful silence. "More than two decades have passed, Father. People do forget."

"Admirable sentiments, but as long as we represent the Malfoy family, the rabble will not forget. I've spent fifteen years trying to regain my former position in society, my influence in government. And still I am refused my seat in the Wizengamot, denied my previous positions on boards, overlooked when invitations to certain social events are distributed. Being allowed to host this ball is the best that I have been able to achieve. Not even your… _association_," he spits the word, "with the Chosen One can change that." He shakes his head, gaze still fixed on the floor. "Tell me. When was the last time you went out with your left forearm uncovered?"

I don't respond. There's no need. He already knows the answer.

"Everything I knew, believed, dedicated my life to, rendered worthless: ruined by a chit of a boy." He drains his goblet and throws it at the fireplace. A rake of his hand brings more of his hair forward to hang around his face. He slides his wand into his right hand, twists and flexes his wrist. "A boy who had the temerity to save your life that same night and to place me in his debt." He looks up at me. "Do you see, Draco? We have no choice."

"In what?" Despite the stinging of my eyes, I force myself to continue meeting his gaze. I had believed I would sacrifice almost anything to have him acknowledge me once more, but I was wrong. I'd rather have my father back – proud, arrogant, sneering at the world, demanding my obedience, loving me with his heart and soul – even if it means never speaking to him again.

He reaches out with his left hand, and I finally give in to the worst of my conflicting impulses. I go to him, kneel in front of his chair, and take his ice-cold hand between mine. He says, "Scorpius is almost of age to inherit. Untainted by our scandals, he could prove our family's redemption."

"You want me to…" I stop, unable to continue, barely able to comprehend the enormity of what he is asking. This time he wants me to sacrifice everything. Not just my innocence, my sanity, or even my name. But that which is the foundation of everything that I am.

"He is untainted." He drops his wand in his lap and strokes my cheek. "Do you see?"

His gentle touch comforts me, as it did when I awoke screaming from nightmares as a child. I want to give him what he needs, as I have done so many times before, but I cannot think. Not when he touches me like this. "I… I need time to… consider your… proposal."

Father nods and slumps back in his chair. His whole body shakes. His chest heaves as if he has played a marathon game of Quidditch. He reaches for the jug, but succeeds only in knocking it over, spilling red and black tongues of liquid that flick at the antique Aubusson rug. I'm staring at the smoking liquid as it sinks into the carpet when he releases the wards and the doors slam open.

I twist to my feet and stand between the doors and my father, wand held ready. Harry walks toward me slowly, empty hands held out in front of him. Severus follows him into the room. Mother hovers in the background.

"You all right?" Harry slides both arms around my waist and pulls me close against him.

Confused, I lean my head back and let it rest on his shoulder. "What?"

"Your father didn't seem himself."

"You're finally developing a talent for understatement." Severus limps past. Mother follows him.

Father looks exhausted, sprawled back in his chair, eyes half-closed, wand still lying across his lap. Severus leans over him. Mother curls up on the rug at Father's feet, her head leaning against his knee, one arm reaching up so she can clutch at his hand – how worried she must be to do this in front of us. They're talking, too quietly for me to hear.

"C'mon," Harry murmurs in my ear, and he walks me out of the room, supporting me with an arm secured around my waist. The faint strains of music from the ballroom seem almost outrageously loud to my ears.

Eventually Severus joins us, closing the doors behind him. "He's fine," he says. "Narcissa has him well in hand." The unconscious repetition almost leaves me gasping – I _did not_ marry my father. "However, they're," he wrinkles his nose and makes a throwaway gesture with his hand, "busy. We are asked to bid any remaining guests farewell and ensure they leave safely."

"Oh." The soft sound escapes before I can stop it. My bastard father does not play fair, extending the offer of family not just to me but to all three of us.

Severus is still watching me. "I assume you had more sense than to agree to Lucius's demands."

I nod, hesitant to expose myself further in this house.

Severus grunts and takes my arm. It feels like a benediction.

ooOoo

I prop myself against a wall in the entrance hall, cross my arms over my chest, and watch the last stragglers – herded out by the Granger-Weasleys – parade through the Floo. As soon as they disappear in a flash of green, my legs collapse beneath me. Marble slams against my tailbone, and I blink away tears.

A hand strokes my jaw, raises my head. Severus brushes his lips across mine. He has lowered himself to the floor. For me? Wonder aches through my heart.

"Draco, love, whatever it is, we're here. Remember that." Harry kneels in front of me and kisses me gently.

We sit there for a moment, or maybe half a lifetime, in the silence that echoes through the Manor. Somewhere upstairs my mother is trying yet again to help my father find his way back to himself and to her. Somewhere else, the house elves are hard at work, cleaning up the mess left behind by people who have forgotten, or never learned, how to pick up after themselves. Eventually, though, it's all too much: too silent, too echoing, too demanding.

I pull back from them, my lovers, and use the wall to lever myself up. Harry looks into my eyes and nods at whatever he sees there before he stands up. Then we both help Severus rise. I let them shift me around until I'm sheltered between them. Tomorrow we'll have to discuss Father's proposal. Tonight, I just want to go home.

~fin~


End file.
